


Something Lost

by NyxAcidZila



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxAcidZila/pseuds/NyxAcidZila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apple tasted like what she could have had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Lost

Susan Pevensie walked between the stalls of the open air market with one of her friends from bridge club. It had been two months since her family's death and everyone was marveling at her resiliency. Some were muttering behind hands that she was glad they were dead, that she just wanted the money left to her, but she had learned to ignore the gossip of the masses back in Narn-

"Come on, Susan!" Yelled Zoe, and she hurried to catch up. 

Zoe was standing by a fresh produce stand. She was talking to the boy there and leaning over just enough that he had a good view down her shirt. Susan stifled a giggle. She remembered flashing desire in front of men to keep safe or pry secrets, but then it wasn't cleavage but a crown...

She shook her head vigorously. Imagination had killed the rest of her family, always chasing after a magical land where everything was perfect and nice. They'ed never really lived and she'd be dammed if she let that happen to her.

"Try one," said Zoe, shoving an apple into her hand. She looked down and smiled, biting into its smooth red skin. Juice dribbled down her chin. The apple tasted tangy and sweet. It tasted like laughing with friends, and dancing, and staying up half the night, and flirting and laughing and living.

But it also tasted like something lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Susan...  
> I might add a second chapter with her redemption.


End file.
